Dear mythical holiday entities,
While my children may adore you because you bring them presents, candy and money, I DO NOT. You are spoiling them with all the electronics and junk food.
When I was young, the Easter bunny brought me an egg filled with some sort of caramel-like substance and nuts. I couldn’t chew it, and the candy confection would sit around until someone tossed it into the trash. Oh, and there were also a couple of plastic eggs filled with pennies and dimes for our rousing Easter egg hunt around the living room. We grew up in the city, and the plush green shag carpeting was grass-like.
Somehow, for my kids, Easter has morphed into a mini-version of Christmas. Not only do they receive enough junk to rot all 20 baby teeth and the emerging adult ones, but also they get presents and eggs filled with cash money. We aren’t talking change; we are talking Washingtons and Lincolns.
Also, Easter Bunny, you’re scary…always have been, always will be. You are the least photogenic of all your mythical friends, with your large eyes so black they remind me of the inside of my childhood closet. You know the one, where the monster lived. And I know you don’t hop. Frankly, the sight of an NBA-sized Easter bunny walking is unnerving, to say the least. But you aren’t the only asshole out there. I’m talking to you, Santa. Yes, you.
I see you at the mall. Oh, wait, that’s your ‘helper.’ Which begs the question: Why can’t you make it to all your appearances? Aren’t you magical, and doesn’t that mean you can be in two places at once? Drop the cookies, hit the gym and maybe we’ll see you at the mall more next year. A weight loss plan would also allow for smoother sailing when chimney hoping. Just a suggestion. Don’t get your red boxers in a bunch.
Speaking of cookies, I hope you share them with the reindeer who cart you all over the world. I only mention this because you’ve suggested leaving out carrots for them. Surely they need something a bit more substantial to drive you from here to eternity every Christmas Eve.
And tooth fairy, you’re on my list, and I’m sure you know what that means. Apparently, you are a very intelligent woman if, in fact, you are a woman. While Santa and the Easter Bunny slip in unnoticed, neither of them gets quite so close to the children. Statistically speaking, your odds of getting caught are much greater than your colleagues. You are either very brave or very stupid. What if they wake up and see you? Do you have the power to simply disappear? I’m sure you get these questions all the time. Also, speaking of your close proximity to children, stop it. I find it unsettling. Are you watching my children sleep?
My other issues: the money and the candy. Come on — candy? Really? Your name implies concern with, and promotion of, proper oral hygiene. Do cavities mean nothing to you? I assume not, since you don’t have to carry four kids on your dental insurance. And the money; I’m sure you’re wondering why I take issue with that. You allow my children and the children of the world to believe they must simply leave a tooth under a pillow to come into cash.
This is problematic for two reasons. The first, children are now intentionally pulling teeth from their mouths and hurting themselves. Must I mention insurance again? I fear someday, in need of better video games or sassy sneakers, they will pull adult teeth out. The second comes down to dollars and cents, which I have very of little of.
While I can’t seem to make a decent living as a writer, my children are doing quite well losing baby teeth. It’s not just bitterness about my own career choices, but the expectations you are setting by giving them money for nothing. I envision a day when they will use your inflated offerings as a bargaining tool for higher allowances.
And now I’ll move on to the lowly, working-class entities. Elves, Santa’s henchmen, you I feel sorry for. You work in sweat shop conditions year round and don’t receive much minus the wackadoodle outfit and slippers with bells. I can only hope that one day you will revolt and overthrow your evil and well-fed dictator. Make sure to take your slippers off when you do, or he’ll hear you when you come for him. If you let us know of your plans in advance, we can start a GoFundMe or charity event and raise money so you can acclimate to life outside of the ‘workshop.’
I also briefly want to address the newbie in the group, Elf on the Shelf. Take your whimsy elsewhere. I don’t want to wake up in the days preceding Christmas to an elf, who has apparently had a better night than I have, swinging from my chandelier. The holidays were far better without you.
There is only one entity I haven’t dealt with: that sneaky little bastard. Mr. Leprechaun, nobody has seen your pot of gold .Though, if I find it, I can assure you, I won’t be handing it over. I’m a mother with kids to feed. And as far as I can tell, you don’t add much to the holiday consortium, minus green toilet water, and if I eat enough cabbage I can handle that.
Whew, I’m glad I got that off my mind. I feel so much better. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for all the joy and magic you bring into our lives, but let’s keep things in perspective and dial back a bit on the grandeur!
Nicole, a disenchanted mom